


Poisonous Bite

by HarleysLittleMonster



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Age gap couple, BDSM, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Bratting, Bratty Reader, Breathplay, Choking, Choking Kink, Consensual Non-Consent, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Don't like don’t read, Electrocution, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Gore, Gorey stories, Hybristophilia, I'll probably add more tags later, Masochism, Master/Pet, Maybe some angst, Mommy Kink, No Spoilers, Nymphomania, Pet Names, Petplay, S&M, Sadism, Smut, Some Humor, Voice Kink, Yandere, dom!Natasha, haematophilia, sadism/masochism, shock collar, sub!Reader, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:27:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21525208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarleysLittleMonster/pseuds/HarleysLittleMonster
Summary: You are a former assassin, labeled a serial killer by the American media. After getting caught and arrested by Nick Fury, he arranges for you to train to become an Avenger after being impressed by your “work.” He intends for you to bring the Avengers together and for them to teach you to help people. He put Agent Natasha Romanoff, the infamous “Black Widow,” in charge of you and your training.Fury did not intend for a relationship beyond friendship to spark.Rated Explicit for eventual smut and graphic depictions of violence!
Relationships: Natasha Romanoff/Original Female Character(s), Natasha Romanov/Reader, natasha Romanoff/reader
Comments: 61
Kudos: 237





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Aagh I haven’t written in so long I can SMELL the dust on my keyboard! Anyways I fell in love with Natasha Romanoff so let’s write a smutty reader/character fic to help me cope with reality!

Your cell is cold. Very cold. Normally, you like the cold, a nice breeze made you happy, but being in any sort of cell always makes you furious, so it’s very hard to be happy. You wonder why this stupid country spends so much on their military and so little on their prison system while you kick a filthy cement wall behind you like an angry horse.

What pisses you off even more was the uniform they forced you into: bright orange, a jumpsuit. You hate it, so naturally you ripped it to pieces the second it touched your clean skin. The guards put you in a new one, of course. That time though, you ripped it only a bit, making it into some pants and a jaggedly-cropped top. You were proud of yourself for compromising.

As you sat heavily on your bottom bunk, you look up at the top bunk and remember with a sly grin why it is now currently empty. Your cell mate, she had called you a “stupid psychotic dyke.” It took 10 seconds to make her apologize, but you didn’t wanna stop there.

_“She shoulda known better than to fuck with the most notorious assassin in the country,”_ you think, as you remember her screams and the sound of her flesh tearing from her muscle and bone. You immediately flush with heat and clench your thighs together at the memory. 

As much fun as that event was, it left you alone (except for the 10 guards up and down your hallway). You’re bored, and there wasn’t even a cute woman in uniform for you to flirt with, all boys. _Hmph._

Just as you were considering fucking yourself for the thrill of it, or breaking something for the inevitable chaos it would cause, you hear someone in thick shoes clomping down the hallway. The guard ten feet away from you looks down the dark hall and his eyes widen ever-so-slightly until his gaze drops to his feet. Your interest is peaked, and you stand up to the bars of your cell with your fingers around them, trying to get a look at whoever is coming. 

A man with dark skin, an eyepatch, and fully black clothes stops in front of your cell, standing right behind the yellow line labeled “do not cross” (for their safety, not yours). He’s staring right at you. You immediately recognize him as the agent that put you in this cage and you’re growling at him before you could even think about it.

Your animalistic nature usually scares people. The man in front of you seems unfazed (though you notice the guard behind him flinch. You chuckle.)

He waits for you to slow your growling to a harsh glare accompanied by slow, heavy breaths. Then, he speaks.

“Y/N Y/L/N.” His voice is deep and serious. You hate it, and feel your nose wrinkle in disgust.   
“Present,” you snarl in return.

He gives you a small, thin smile. It’s hollow. He’s trying to gain your trust, but you know better. Way better.

“Do you know why I’m here?” The question is monotone. If you weren't aware that he’s a secret agent, you’d think that he’s bored.

“Maybe,” you lessen your glare, shuffle your feet to a more comfortable position against the bars. You blow some strands of your hair away from your face. “You’re not the warden of this hellhole, or a psychiatrist, or a guard. You’re the agent that took me from my job and my life and threw me in a cage. Why you would come see me, that I don’t know.”

You see one of his eyebrows twitch, as if he’s impressed. You lean against the bars more, a nonchalant look on your face. You glance over at the guard standing against the wall, who appears to be avoiding your gaze, and let out a heavy sigh.

The man in front of you notices immediately. “You’re bored, huh?”

You squint your eyes at him but give a small nod. “Yeah. This place is a shithole.”

“Would you rather be outside?”

“No shit.”

He pulls out a small device (a cell phone, you assume) and looks at it, before putting it back in his pocket. Then he takes out a small notepad and pen.

You laugh. “Are you pretending to be a detective now?”

“No,” he replies, unfazed by your laughter. He clicks the pen open. “Have you ever heard of the Avengers?”

You’re a bit taken aback by the fast topic change, but more surprised at the mention of the Avengers. Your eyes widen a bit. You know who they are and more. You love them, idolize them (well... _one_ of them).

You exhale and stand up from your leaning position. “Yes, of course I have. Why do you ask?”

He ignores your question. “What’s your opinion on them?”

You pause, shocked at his rudeness, but answer. Coldly. “I think they’re neat. Some of them are boring, one of them shouldn’t be an Avenger at all, and one is absolutely astounding.”

He looks up at you. You hadn’t noticed he was taking notes until now, his pen still. Your brow furrows, but you don’t ask what he’s writing. You know he won’t tell you.

“Which of them is boring?”

“Is this a survey on a superhero clan?”

“Please answer the question, Y/N.”

You frown. “Answer mine first.”

The man raises an eyebrow but complies. “Fine. Ask away.”

You realize you don’t even know who he is and you’ve been talking to him for almost ten minutes. You cock your head to the side and ask, “what’s your name?”

“Agent Nick Fury, leader of S.H.I.E.L.D.” 

Your eyes widen. “You’re the guy that formed the Avengers!”

He gives you a small chuckle. “Yes, I am.”

You stand on your toes so you are slightly taller than him. “Alright Fury, why are you here?”

He clicks his pen twice, as if to remind you that he’s holding it. “To interview you.”

You droop and lean against the bars again. “Like a job interview?” You roll your eyes.

Nick Fury gives a quick nod. “Yes, exactly.”

“Boring,” you mumble. He looks at you with a softer stare, as if trying to comfort you from three feet away.

“Who do you believe is the strongest Avenger, if you know them so well?”

You immediately perk up, but then quickly blush and turn your face to hide it. You cough, brushing it off. You clear your throat and say “Black Widow,” with confidence in your voice.

Fury scribbles away on his notepad. You notice a gun on his belt and roll your eyes.

“Natasha Romanoff,” Fury speaks to the air between you. “Former assassin and KGB agent, now an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. and an Avenger.” He looks up from his writing. “Did she inspire you to become an ‘assassin’ too?”

You blush and scoff. “No! When I started my work I didn’t even know she existed.”

“But you know who she is now?”

“Oh yes,” you say without thinking. It comes out like a moan and you blush again. “The formation of a team made of superheros and superagents does not go unnoticed, especially by a vigilante like myself.”

He nods as if he agrees. “If she didn’t inspire you, who or what did?”

You grin widely, “I wanted to rid the world of disgusting people like rapists, abusive parents, and pedophiles. Horrible people that are the scum of the Earth.”  
Fury writes notes quickly and then clicks his pen. “Okay. That’s all I need.”

You scowl in disappointment. You don’t want him to leave, for the first time in two weeks you’re not bored to high hell. “Wait, that’s it?”

Fury puts his notepad and pen back in his pocket. “Yep. It was a good interview.”

You open your mouth but don’t know what to say. You turn to go sit back on your bunk but stop when he speaks again.

“Get her out of there and meet me by the main gate.”  
You turn around and see Fury talking to the guards, who immediately scramble like scared ants to meet his demands.

Before you know what’s even happening your cell door is open and five guards are walking in with a standing cot and a muzzle. For you.  
You growl and drop to a pouncing position but are tackled before you can jump. The scent of male B.O. fills your disgusted nose as the muzzle is forced on your mouth and handcuffs force your wrists in front of you. Eventually, you’re too curious about where you’re going to keep fighting and let the guards strap you into the standing cot.

You’re rolled by the five guards through the damp, dimly-lit halls into an elevator. During the ride up you snarl under your muzzle at one of the smaller guards and he winces in fear, making you cackle.

You’re bored now as you’re rolled through more hallways, passing more cells (and howling prisoners, ick), and more doors. You start to drift off when you hear a door open in front of you and the harsh sun shines on your face, making you squint. _God, I’d kill for my sunglasses._

Nick Fury is standing by a huge black truck, talking to the driver. When he notices you and the guards he nods to the driver who starts the truck’s engine and rolls up the window.

“Good job. Put her in the back.” The guards around you nod and start to move you into the back of the truck.

You shake your head as much as you can under the straps. “Wait, no, what the fuck? Where the fuck am I going?” Your voice is muffled by the thick muzzle. The leather and metal buckles of it stick to your sweaty skin. The summer heat makes you miss your chilly basement cell.

Once you’re loaded into the truck (like _cargo,_ ugh.), all strapped in so your cot doesn’t move while on the road, the guards leave and Nick Fury holds the doors open, looking at you.   
“You’re going to meet the Avengers,” he says, with a small smile as if he can tell your jaw just dropped under your muzzle. “Sit tight.”

You’re brimming with questions, but he shuts the doors.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really have no idea where I’m going with this lmao and I’ll try to update as much as I can because I don’t wanna just abandon this story... I’m just majorly gay for Natasha Romanoff and until that passes (it won’t pass) I’ll be writing my feelings and bullshit into this! Enjoy the ramblings of a lesbian bottom!

Except for the normal sounds of the road, the ride was quiet. No one had spoken yet, at least not to your knowledge.   
The back of the truck was a smooth, tiny white room. Unlike your cell, it had windows on every side except for the doors. A small window behind you let you see the back of Nick Fury’s shoulder, and you assume that this specific window is for communication between the drivers and the “passengers.”

Fury said that he was taking you to meet the Avengers, and you’re still _very_ excited. You don’t care for most of them, maybe the Hulk was kinda cool, and Iron Man was really awesome, but you have always had one favorite ever since they formed: Black Widow.  
Natasha Romanoff. Natalia Alianova Romanova. You felt yourself blush. Yes, you had done your research on her, you had to do research on all of them! Like you had told Fury, a team of superheros was not good news for a law-breaking vigilante like yourself, so you did deep research on each and every Avenger, taking in as much information as you could find.

Hawkeye, or Clint Barton, is a bland family guy, just a normal dude who just happens to be able to use a bow and arrows. Boring. Captain America, or Steve Rogers, was the first ever Avenger, genetically modified to be a super-human soldier. Yeah, that’s cool, but not really. Bruce Banner was mutated with radiation and is now the Hulk. From a psychological perspective, that’s kinda interesting, you couldn’t lie, but a giant green dude running around with uncontrollable emotions is probably not a good thing. Thor is the ‘god of thunder’ apparently, which intrigues you, but not enough for you to really care. Iron Man, better known as Tony Stark, a multi-billionaire who built a weaponized super-suit. Fucking _badass,_ and you usually don’t like rich people, so that’s saying something. But none of them have anything on Black Widow.

Your research on her was not only the most interesting, but the most gruesome. Born in Russia, she was taken as a child, no idea who her parents or family are, raised and trained well into her young adult years in the Red Room to become a specialized KGB agent and assassin. Like Steve Rogers, she was genetically modified to have superhuman qualities and strengths. She somehow made a switch then, over to become an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. 

She’s not only the scariest Avenger, or the first female Avenger (which you _adore_ her for), she’s also the world’s _deadliest_ assassin, and known for her terrifying combat skills and cunning intelligence.   
You fucked yourself three times while researching her and came even more. You couldn’t help yourself, your heart beat faster and your cunt ached with each article or page you clicked through. _Hybristophilia can certainly be distracting._  
You sigh and focus back on the real world. Thinking about how excited you are to meet the Avengers made you forget that you don’t even know _why_ you’re going to meet them.

You swallow, feeling your mouth dry from your daydreaming. You clear your throat and speak, “Hey Fury, why exactly am I being taken to meet the Avengers?”

There’s a pause, and that pause fills your head with theories. _Am I being taken to them to die? An execution? Or maybe they labeled me as too dangerous for a regular prison and are sending me to be jailed by the Avengers?_ That last one gives you a spike of pride and you smile.

Finally, Fury speaks. “Our interview was to see if you would be a good potential addition to the Avengers. Now we’re onto the second part: meeting the team and seeing if you work well with them.” He says this like he’s talking to an intern. A slow intern.

But you don’t care about the tone of his voice, you’re too busy grinning from ear to ear with a mix of anxiety and excitement. They want you to _join_ the Avengers? Be an Avenger? Kill bad guys? Save the day? Hang out with the Avengers? Hang out with _Natasha?_

You giggle like an excited schoolgirl. “What happens if I work well with them?” You ask as if you don’t already know the answer.

“Then your training begins,” Fury replies. “Once that’s complete, you become an Avenger.” His tone of voice is the same but you can tell that he knows you’re excited. You wiggle a little in your cot, the straps and lack of freedom forgotten.

You calm down a bit and wonder out loud, “Wait, why do you want me to be an Avenger?”

Fury replies immediately. “Because you’re not evil. You did what other people are too afraid to do and you did it happily. You helped people. You saved people. Yes, you also tortured and slaughtered people, but you said it yourself: those people were disgusting. That value of human rights, ambition, and determination, is what I looked for when I formed the Avengers and I think you would be a great addition.”

You grin in reply. And somehow, you know that he can tell.

————————————————————————————————————————————  
  
You don’t realize that you had fallen asleep until you wake up to the sounds of car doors slamming shut. Your eyes are still half shut when the doors in front of you are opened wide and Nick Fury, with a man (who you assume was the driver) next to him are standing there watching you regain consciousness in the afternoon sunlight.

“Rise and shine,” Fury says, his voice cheerful but deep. “Enjoy your nap?”

You mumble but nod as much as you could with the forgotten straps around you.   
Fury frowned. “Jesus. I know it’s protocol over there but they really didn’t have to lock you up like that just for a car ride.” He motions to the man behind him. “Let her out. That’s just shitty.”

The man obeys Fury and soon you’re out of your strappy prison, handcuffs, muzzle and all. You stretch your arms above your head and out in front of you like a cat.   
“So, I assume this means we’re here?”

Fury nods. “Your assumption is correct. Now let’s get inside.”

The man stays behind while Nick Fury leads you into a large grey building that you assume is the Avengers compound. You suppress a chuckle at how sci-fi it looks.

He walks you through many long hallways and through interesting rooms, into a fancy looking elevator, and through _more_ hallways until he stops in what looks like a kitchen.  
Fury points to a chair in front of a counter and you take the hint and sit down.   
“Stay here,” he orders. You lean on the counter and give him a small salute as a sign of your compliance.   
He leaves through a different door than the one you came in from and leaves you alone in the _Avenger’s fucking kitchen._ You can’t help but grin.

————————————————————————————————————————————

Nick Fury closes the door behind him as he walks into the Avenger’s living room and sits down in a leather chair. Every Avenger is seated on a couch in front of him, except for Tony.

Fury sighs. “Where’s Tony?”

Before anyone can answer, a voice is heard from down the hall behind the couch. “I’m here!” Everyone turns to see Tony Stark in a t-shirt and jeans speed-walking towards the couch to sit down.

Tony sits and massages his temples. “Sorry, I’m just super hung over.”

Fury rolls his eyes but decides to move on with the meeting. “As- hopefully- you all know, I brought someone here to see if they would make a good addition to this team.” Everyone nods but Tony, who’s fingers are still on his temples.

Fury continues, “I researched her and interviewed her, and I believe that she would be a good Avenger. The final decision is up to me, but you all need to get to know her first, and if that works out, train her.”

The Avengers all nod. “So tell us about her,” Clint says.

Fury pulls a folder from inside his jacket and places it on the coffee table between him and the Avengers. He opens it and turns it towards them so they can all see.  
“Her name is Y/N Y/L/N and she’s sixteen years old,” he starts.

Steve interrupts him. “Sixteen? That’s a little young...” he looks worried.   
“Her age is concerning,” Thor agrees. “A child really shouldn’t be put in danger like we are, defending the world.”  
“She may be young, but she’s very capable.” Fury replies, a bit upset that he was interrupted.  
He continues. “She dropped out of high school to run off and start what she described as a ‘girl gang,’ a group of people, mostly women, that beat and kill ‘evil’ people such as rapists and domestic abusers.”

He pauses, watching the Avengers’ reactions. Steve looks shocked, Bruce looks scared, Clint looks nonchalant, Thor looks a bit confused, Natasha looks impressed, and Tony still has is head in his hands.

Fury exhales heavily and continues his speech. “Y/N wasn’t able to form a ‘gang’ and survived on her own, working as a waitress in the city. She didn’t give up, though. She followed news stories about rapes and abductions, tracked them and found the perpetrators herself. Then she tortured and killed them. But according to her arrest file, she only ‘deliberately killed them about half of the time,’ the rest were all ‘easily anticipated accidents.’”   
Tony was listening now. He, along with most of the other Avengers, look incredibly shocked.   
“Wait, she’s that teenage serial killer? The ‘Fallen Angel?’” Tony asks, sitting up straight. “You brought a _serial killer_ to the compound?”

Fury shrugs and sits back in his chair. “She describes herself as a ‘vigilant assassin.’”   
Steve stands up, alert. “Where is she now? Is she secure?” He asks with alarm in his voice.

Fury puts his hand up, gesturing for Steve to sit back down. “She’s fine and she’s not going to hurt any of us. She’s quite the fan of the Avengers actually.” He lets a small smirk cross his face and he chuckles.   
“Interesting,” Natasha says, picking up the file and examining the photo of you at the top. She crosses her leggings-clad legs. “She’s quite pretty, too. Probably seduced some of her victims to get them into her basement.”

“That leads us to the next part of her file,” Fury says, allowing Natasha to flip through the folder and it’s contents. He knows you wouldn’t mind. “Y/N was given the title of the ‘Fallen Angel’ because she saved many people from abusers and rapists, potentially saving their lives. But she did it all with violence and many...” he pauses, “...unorthodox methods. Creative, really.”

Just as Fury said that, Natasha flips to a new page and lets out a quiet gasp. “Oh man...” she mumbles, making everyone turn to look in her direction. Bruce and Clint, who are sitting on either sides of Natasha, look towards the file to see what she was looking at, and both immediately look away, fear in their eyes. Bruce suppresses gagging.   
Fury nods. “Ah, you found the crime scene photos didn’t you?”

Natasha can do nothing but nod in agreement, her lips slightly parted and her eyes wide as she carefully examines each image. Crime scene photos of dismembered limbs piled on blood-splattered floors, skinned body parts hanging from butcher’s hooks on the ceiling, half-eaten chunks of unidentifiable flesh covering a table or counter. Bloody weaponry ranging from kitchen knives to machetes, chainsaws to small guns.  
Natasha isn’t grossed out, she’s seen shit like this before, many times. The look on her face is one of pure _shock._ “How could a _teenager_ do this?...” she asks out loud.

Fury chuckles. “Read the personality part of her file. I’m getting to that.”

As the rest of the Avengers try to forget what they just saw, Natasha flips a page as Fury continues is speech. “Y/N is very apathetic, but when she cares she cares deeply. She’s a bit sensitive and anger is her greatest strength. She’s an advocate for human rights, freedom, and equality.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “She’s impulsive and incredibly intelligent and cunning. Psycho-analysis and violence are her specialties.” He pauses, watching Natasha nod along. “Y/N is a skilled dancer and knows a bit about hand-to-hand combat, but more about weaponry, especially blades.”

Natasha flips another page. Tony chuckles. “This girl sounds like a watered-down version of Nat.”

Natasha glares at him but says nothing as Fury replies for her. “Oh no, not really. I was about to get to that.”

The Avengers watch him speak with curiosity. “Y/N Y/L/N is incredibly sadistic, as you all have now seen,” Fury states, the Avengers nodding in agreement, which Bruce suppressing another gag. “But while she was in custody we discovered why.”

“Because she’s fucking sick?” Clint asks aggressively.

“Kind of,” Fury replies. “Relating back to what Agent Romanoff said, she did seduce many of her victims, but she never had sex with them.”  
  


Tony laughs as Steve blushes at the mention of sex, but they both quickly quiet down.

Fury continues, “Y/N never touched any of her victims without their consent and when she did touch them, it was only the female victims- of which there were few- and she never touched their sexual organs or anything. She said in her trial that if she had done that, she would have been a hypocrite.” The Avengers all nod.   
Tony sits up. “So wait, the serial killer is a lesbian or something?”

Natasha speaks up, “She is exactly that, it says so right here,” she points to a page as her eyes sparkle with interest.

Tony quiets down, a little ashamed of himself. “Right. Cool.”

Thor shrugs. “A sapphic is not uncommon on my planet.”

Fury waits for him to sit still and then continues, “Yes guys, she’s a lesbian. But that’s not the most important part of her personality file.” He swallows. “While Y/N was in custody, she was evaluated by a criminal psychiatrist that diagnosed her with nymphomania, hybristophilia, and haematophilia. And, to add on, anger issues.” Fury chuckles at that. He looks at the Avengers in front of him and all of them look confused.

“What the hell does all that mean?” Bruce asks, his fellow Avengers- excluding Natasha- nodding along.

“I know that nymphomania is the addiction to sexual pleasure,” Natasha says, while looking at nothing in particular.   
“The teenage serial killer is a sex addict?” Tony laughs.

“Sexual _pleasure_ addict,” Natasha corrects him. Tony rolls his eyes.  
“Okay... but what about the rest of that? Can anyone translate?” Clint says awkwardly.

“Working on it,” Natasha says, but Fury cuts in.

“Hybristophilia is an extreme sexual attraction to violent criminals, or people that have committed gruesome crimes,” He says nonchalantly, “and haematophilia is an extreme sexual attraction to blood and gore.”

A pause hangs in the air as everyone processes what was just said.  
“God,” Steve says. He’s blushing, but his face is more concerned than uncomfortable.

“‘God’ is right,” Tony adds.

“So... that’s why her methods were so ‘creative?’” Clint asks. Fury nods in reply.

“And you want this monster to be an _Avenger?”_ Thor asks, his arms crossed over his chest.

Fury nods again. “Don’t worry, I have many ways of making sure she stays in check.”

“I’m worrying anyway,” says Bruce, shaking his head.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover now, guys. She’s known to be really sweet unless you piss her off.” Fury laughs. “Now, let’s have you all meet her.”

————————————————————————————————————————————

When Fury opens the door to the kitchen, he’s greeted by you laying across the kitchen counter he sat you at with one leg crossed over the other and your hands clasped on your chest. You notice him come in the second the door clicks open.

“Oh hey,” you say, your hand moving to give him a small wave but then going right back to your chest. “You were in there for a while.”

“It was only about half an hour,” he says in reply. “And get down from there!”

You frown and sit up as a weak compromise. “Time moves way slower when I’m bored,” you deadpan. You cross your arms over your chest and put one foot on your discarded chair.

Fury rolls his eyes and moves on. He takes a place standing next to you and calls out towards the door. “Come on! Don’t be shy!”

Your heart beats faster as you remember why you’re here. You sit up straight and look with wide eyes as the Avengers walk in into the room one by one. First is Steve, who looks rigid, then Clint, followed by Tony, then Bruce, then Thor, then (finally!) Natasha. You can’t help but gasp when you see her. _She’s even more beautiful in person._

You’re not even exaggerating, the woman is a _siren._ Her full lips, piercing green eyes, smooth skin and flaming red hair is making it hard for you to breathe. 

The room is suddenly much warmer. You realize you’re staring as her eyes meet yours, and you quickly look away. You take a breathe and try to ease your nervousness.

Each Avenger takes a spot across from you and Fury, Steve and Natasha leaning against another counter, Bruce, Thor and Clint each in a chair, and Tony sitting on the counter itself.

“Avengers, meet Y/N Y/L/N.” Fury says, his hand pointing to you as if you were a pet he’s showing off.

Which each Avenger watching you carefully, you swallowed and gave a quick, nervous wave. “Hello,” you say, your voice shaky. Each of them wave or give a ‘hello’ in reply.

Clint scoffs. “She’s a fucking _serial killer_ and _she’s_ nervous to meet _us?”_ He gives a deep laugh.   
You play with a strand of your hair and look at the floor, blushing in shame. “Barton, be fucking polite.” Fury scolds Clint, who responds with an awkward cough and a quiet ‘sorry.’

You give a small smile and look back up at the Avengers, satisfied by Clint’s shame. Steve points to Fury and speaks. “He said that you already know who we all are, is that true?”

You nod, a proud smile on your face. Steve nods in return, and you analyze each of the heroes in front of you. Bruce looks afraid of you, which fills you with pride. Steve looks uncomfortable and on edge, probably worried that you’re gonna attack them. Clint still looks ashamed of his earlier comment, which makes you suppress a giggle. Thor looks skeptical, he probably finds you untrustworthy. Tony looks intrigued by you, which is interesting, and Natasha... is looking right at you. Her deep emerald eyes stuck on yours. You blush as you realize she’s probably trying to analyze you too.

Fury takes a couple steps forward. “I have to be going,” he says. Making your eyes widen. He’s going to leave you alone with the motherfucking _Avengers._ “She’s going to be staying with you all now. No more cells. She will sleep on the couch until her room is set up and all of you will be in charge of watching and training her,” he pauses and places a shoe-sized box onto the counter behind Natasha, “With Agent Romanoff as her main caretaker and mentor.” Natasha only looks from Fury to you and nods, with a confident smile.

You, on the other hand, are blushing like crazy. You can _feel_ the blood rushing underneath your skin. _Natasha fucking Romanoff_ is your main mentor and _caretaker?_ You can’t stop yourself from smiling at that thought.   
You look at the box behind Natasha with curiosity and notice her look at you. Her smile grows to a small, subtle smirk.  
Fury walks back over to you and points. “Don’t cause trouble,” he says. You nod. He looks back at the Avengers. “Don’t make her uncomfortable,” he said. They all voice their agreements.

At that, Fury nods, gives a quick, formal ‘goodbye,’ and walks out, leaving you alone with the Avengers.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry-not-sorry, but I’m a huge whore (and the reader is a literal nympho), so this entire story is gonna be REALLY sex-focused. Crushes, awkwardness, cuteness, and romance will all ensue, but in due time! Right now the reader’s crush is minimal (90% sexual attraction lmao), and will most definitely grow later on. Be patient!

“Alright, first things first...” Tony says, breaking the awkward silence. “Who’s gonna set up her room?”

You giggle out loud before you can stop it. “You’re funny,” you say to Tony.

“Why thank you, I try,” he replies with a grin and a small faux bow, which makes you giggle again.

“Stop that, Tony. She doesn’t want to sleep with you.” Natasha scolds him with a sly smile, chuckling. The rest laugh behind her as you blush.

You smile as your heartbeat picks up. _I’ve never heard her voice before..._ You shift in your awkward seat atop the counter. Her voice is deep but soothing, low and seductive. _It’s hypnotic._

“I agree with Tasha,” you giggle, a hand on your cheek to hide your blush. The others’ laughs slowly cease and they look at you. You worry that you said something wrong.  
“W... what is it?” You stammer, your hand dropping to meet the other in your lap.   
Natasha picks up the box that Fury had set down behind her and walks over to you. “Relax, nothing is wrong. It’s just that ‘Tasha’ is a nickname that none of us have every heard for me before.”

You immediately start to apologize but she shushes you. “It’s okay, I like it.” She speaks softer and places her hand gently on your knee, taking a step towards you. “It’s cute.”

You feel your breath hitch in your throat as your face _flushes_ and you feel your heartbeat in your _fingertips_ it’s so fast. Her light touch and low voice was enough to make your core throb along with it. 

Natasha looks at you with hooded, but comforting eyes, her lips in a soft but knowing smile, and walks next to you, placing the box on the counter. “Steve, you’ll be on bedroom duty,” she speaks to the room. Her take-charge tone makes you press your thighs together tightly.  
Steve nods.

“Tomorrow I’ll take her out shopping for everything she needs, but she’ll borrow my clothes for now,” Natasha says. She turns her head to look at you with a half-smile. “Is that alright?”

“Ye-yeah that’s fine...” you smile and blush at the thought of wearing Natasha’s clothes. Your head is filled with a thought of her dressing you, and you blush even harder. _I must look like a tomato by now._

“Good thing, that,” Thor says, interrupting your not-so-safe-for-work thoughts. “That prison uniform is depressing.” You frown, but nod. Your outfit makes a cool statement, but you’d rather be in nicer clothing. Plus, shopping with Natasha sounds like a lot of fun.

Natasha had opened the box and was now placing its contents on the countertop one-by-one. Mostly tissue paper. “Tony, you’ll come shopping with us.”

“What? Why?” Tony asks, confused.

“Because you’re paying.”

Tony opens his mouth to protest, but understands and nods.  
Natasha smiles, pulling a piece of paper from the box and unfolding it. It looks like instructions, and you wonder again what’s in the box. “Good. Y/N, Tony and Bruce will help with gear and a mission suit for you later, and I’ll start your training as soon as we can...” she trails off.

You look at her with confusion, and see her observing the paper with her brow furrowed. Her face holds a mix of worry and anger. She holds another piece of paper in her other hand, that you believe to be a note. Everyone gathers around the counter, most on the opposite side from Natasha.

“What the fuck is wrong with him?” She mumbles, looking between the two papers. She places them on the countertop in front of her and reaches into the box again, pulling out a black watch, and a dog collar.

You stiffen. “What’s that for?” You ask, although you believe that you already know the answer.

“According to this note,” Steve says, holding one of the papers Natasha was reading, “it’s for you, to keep you ‘out of trouble.’ Fury says it’s only to be activated when necessary.”

“‘Activated?’” You ask.

“It’s a shock collar,” Natasha says, her voice low. She’s frowning, but her eyes are dark, almost mysterious.

“That’s gross,” Tony says, his nose crinkling is disgust.   
“And unethical,” Bruce adds.

“Yep,” says Steve. “But it’s also an order, and Fury gave rules so Y/N doesn’t get hurt. ‘Keep it on level 15 (high enough to pinch but low enough to be safe) and no one is to control the remote but Natasha.’”

You blush. You don’t like this dehumanizing fate, but the thought of Natasha being the one controlling the collar made you flush with heat.   
“So we’re gonna sit and do nothing while Fury has us put a _dog collar_ on a _child?”_ Clint spits, disgust coating his words.

“Hey!” You snap, your sentience clocking back in from your mind palace. “I’m a teenager, not some little kid. I can handle some mild electrocution.” You glare and growl at Clint and you watch as he slightly cowers. You cackle.  
“Are you sure? Because we could try reason with Fury,” Natasha says, looking right at you. Her deep green eyes are serious but comforting. Your core aches.

“It’s fine, I get it,” you rush out, waving a hand in a ‘it’s fine’ motion. You avoid looking at the others as you lift your hair off your neck to let Natasha put the collar on. She turns her body to face you fully with the collar in hand.

Natasha gives you a small smile, probably grateful for your cooperation, as the others watch her unbuckle the collar and carefully place it around your neck. The close proximity makes her intense, minty scent surround you and you blush, resisting the urge to inhale. Her fingers brush your nape as she buckles the gadget and your breath gets caught in your throat. You feel her hands freeze.   
Natasha looks at you and gives you a slight smirk, never breaking eye contact as she finishes buckling the collar.

When she pulls back, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The others look at you with apology and empathy as Natasha places the black watch around her left wrist. You realize that the watch is a remote for the collar and swallow, feeling how dry your throat is.   
_I was just collared by Natasha Romanoff,_ you think to yourself. You press your thighs together and chew on the inside of your bottom lip. _Fuck._

————————————————————————————————————————————

Natasha and Bruce decided to take you on a short tour of the compound before dinner while the others help Steve set up your bedroom. Before they started though, Natasha took you to her room so you could change into something more comfortable than your ‘edited’ prison uniform.   
You’re now standing awkwardly by the door, a hand on your arm, as you watch Natasha lay a grey t-shirt and black gym shorts on her bed as if she were dressing a small child on their first day of school. She had offered to lend you some comfortable underwear too, but you quickly denied, insisting that your prison-issued cotton panties and bra were fine for now.

Natasha looks from the clothes on her bed to you, her hands on her hips. Your eyes widen and you blush as she asks, “Do you want to take a quick shower?”

“W-what?..” you stammer, unable to find your words.

She laughs. It’s short but sweet, her alto voice making it sound smooth like syrup. “I know it sounds a bit... random, but I know you don’t get to have a nice shower while in prison... and I assume you might want to freshen up a bit.”

She flashes you that same comforting smile, and you feel your chest loosen as you exhale. “Yeah... okay. A shower sounds great.” You say, smiling back at her.

Natasha’s lips stay in a soft smile as she strolls over to you. She leans down a bit (you didn’t realize how _short_ you were compared to her. The top of your head only came up to her _jawline)_ and her pale hands find their way to the nape of your neck.

You feel your face flush and you squeak, “What are you doing?” Her face is close enough for you to feel her light breath against your neck.  
She lets out a low chuckle from her throat as you feel her slender fingers lightly tugging on the buckle of your collar. “Taking your collar off.” Her eyes move from your collar to your own and she leans towards your ear, her breathe tickling its shell.  
“We wouldn’t want you getting _electrocuted,”_ she purrs, her voice melodic. “Now would we?”

You swallow, the action doing nothing for your dry throat. Every syllable that just rolled off of Natasha’s tongue sent a pulse to your cunt. _Oh I’m such a fucking bottom._

“No... no we wouldn’t,” you nod as much as you can with Natasha’s soft hands around your neck. You find yourself silently praying for her to squeeze her long fingers around your throat as your body thrums with heat.

Soon though, the angelic hands are gone along with your collar. You find yourself missing the feeling of her skin against yours and the warmth of her body heat.

Natasha holds the collar at her right hip and points to a door across from her with her opposite hand. “You can use my bathroom for now. Do you need me to show you how the shower works, or do you think you’re all set?”

Her pupils are dark but her smile is soft, almost innocent. _Like she doesn’t know what she’s doing._

_Wait what?_

You shake your head- to clear your thoughts or to answer Natasha, you don’t know. “I think I’m good... thank you.”

Natasha nods, flashing her white teeth in a friendly smile. “Bruce and I will be in the living room when you’re ready. Remember, it’s right down the hall.” And with that she walks out into the hallway, closing the door behind her.

_What the fuck just happened?_

Your skin is still buzzing where Natasha touched you. Was she _flirting_ with you? No, no way. She wouldn’t do that, not only because you’re a minor under her care and that’s not even really _legal_ , but because she’s all work and no play. You remember reading that during your research session (which made images of a professionally-dressed Natasha bending you over an office desk flood your mind and your panties).

You let out a heavy sigh and glance at the door Natasha had left through. _I’m here to become an Avenger, not fuck one,_ you think. _She’s not into me, and even if she was- which she isn’t- I have to focus.  
But... _

You bite your lip at the memory of Natasha’s hands against your neck and quickly rush into the bathroom.

As you take of your simple prison-issued shoes, you examine the small room. The walls are made of while tile, and the floors have a black and white tile pattern. A white toilet, sink, and mirror are to your left, and a white bathtub with a red shower curtain is to your right. Makeup and other cosmetic products are scattered around the sink, and shampoo and soap bottles are on a metal shelf in the shower.

You feel a bit anxious being left alone in Natasha’s bathroom. It feels _wrong._ But you slowly start to strip off your dirty prison uniform regardless.

Once your clothes were off and in a neat little pile next to the sink (no use in making a mess, that would be impolite after all), you turn on the showerhead and find a good temperature. You step into the water’s stream, shut the curtain and sigh, feeling your body still alive with arousal.

_This ‘condition’ is so fun, but can be really annoying sometimes._

You know it’s terribly wrong but you just can’t stop yourself when your hand dives between your legs, two fingers thrust into your heat. 

————————————————————————————————————————————

Bruce and Natasha are sitting on the couch when you walk into the living room, Bruce leaning back against the cushions and Natasha leaning against the arm, splayed out like a tiger. The latter turned to face you when she heard your bare feet patter against the floor. They both smile at you as you walk towards them, towel-drying your hair as you do.

“My clothes look good on you,” Natasha chuckles. You blush a bit at the compliment. The t-shirt and shorts are both a bit loose due to your size differences, but you don’t really mind.

“Thanks,” you giggle. _They would definitely look better on you,_ you think.

_Stop that._

Bruce sits up. “Ready for your tour?” He asks.

You smile and nod, dropping your towel on a nearby coffee table. Natasha interrupts you. “Ah ah ah... wait,” she says, holding the nearly-forgotten shock collar in her hand. You blush, but raise your hair off your neck, your eyes glued to the floor.

Natasha is much more careful this time, and justifiably so- she gently runs your discarded towel around your neck three times to gather every drop of possible liquid that could cause the collar to malfunction, and then _slowly_ runs a single finger up your collarbone and around your neck to double-check it’s dryness.   
As she does this, you’re chewing on the inside of your blushing cheek to prevent yourself from whimpering. You had _just_ came and your body was even _more_ sensitive... it’s almost like Natasha is teasing you by overstimulating your nerves and pulse points.

_No way in hell._

Natasha’s eyes are as dark as before as she re-applies your collar. She doesn’t linger like she did before, and her lips aren’t a centimeter from your ear, but her soft fingers are light, almost delicate against your skin.  
After finishing with your collar, Natasha leads the way through what seems like an endless string of halls and rooms while Bruce walks beside you. You try to listen to what the redhead is saying as she points to each room, but it’s a little difficult to focus when the world’s _sexiest_ assassin is walking in front of you. Your eyes keep drifting down to her hips and long legs, and up to her subtle biceps. _I didn’t know someone could make loungewear look so **hot.**_

Natasha and Bruce show you the conference room, offices, Tony’s workshop (which you’re told you’re not allowed in without permission and a chaperone), and more. They show you the many training rooms- one a large workout room with wrestling mats and punching bags, one a pool, and one that appears to be a dance studio.   
Without thinking, you run inside and admire the ballet barres and smooth floors. “This is amazing!” You say, your eyes wide with excitement.

“That’s right, Fury said you’re a dancer,” Bruce says, pointing. You grin and nod.

“Yep! I do ballet, tap, jazz, hip hop, and pole,” you say, and then freeze. _Fuck, you don’t tell the superheroes that you pole dance!_

You look at Natasha and Bruce. To your surprise, they both look impressed, but Natasha’s eyes sparkle with interest.  
“Pole? Oh you’ll _have_ to show us sometime.” She says, a confident smirk on her lips. You blush. _She wants to watch you_ **pole dance?** That thought makes your forgotten arousal spike.

“I’ll put in a pole later,” Natasha says, interrupting your thoughts. “For now, let’s continue with the tour.”

————————————————————————————————————————————

After returning to the kitchen from your tour, the Avengers ordered in Chinese for an early dinner. You don’t like Chinese that much, but you ate it gratefully. It was better than prison food.

Dinner wasn’t as awkward as you thought it was gonna be. Everyone was really friendly, cracking jokes, asking you questions about your interests and what you wanted to do tomorrow. Tony was really funny and Steve was very polite, Thor was talkative, Bruce was sweet and Clint was friendly when he wasn’t uncomfortable. Natasha was the best out of all of them- she sat right next to you and engaged you in almost every conversation, her gaze and voice soft and comforting to ease your anxiety.   
You had to give her props for her skill at psycho-analysis. It’s better than yours.

Now, with chicken lo-mein in your stomach, a blinking shock collar around your neck, and the Black Widow’s clothes on your body, the assassin herself is setting their living room couch up with a pillow and set of blankets for you to sleep in while you stand awkwardly to the side with your hands behind your back.

“You know, you really don’t have to do this... I can set up blankets and shit myself,” you chuckle, feeling a bit guilty about all the attention you’re receiving. While you usually love getting special attention, Natasha’s caring for you made you feel... weird. Yes it turns you on (you’re beginning to think that everything she does turns you on), but it also makes you feel... warm. Tingly. You figure that you’re just embarrassed (even you have to have a limit on how much attention you want, right?) and that you should be alone (or as alone as you can be sleeping on a couch in the Avengers’ compound) for a bit.

Natasha, however, is having none of it. “I know that you’re capable,” she says, spreading a plush black blanket over the couch, “but I am your main ‘caretaker,’ as a Fury put it. It’s my job to do things for you.”

She finishes with the blanket and turns around to face you. A small smile graces her perfect lips. “Plus, it’s nice to have someone to baby.” Her smile grows a bit. “And, I don’t think you mind anyway.”

You blush, wondering what the _hell_ she could mean, but are interrupted. “Now go to bed, we have a lot to do tomorrow,” Natasha says.   
You lay down on your temporary bed and pull the blankets up over you. Natasha starts to leave, but turns at the doorway.   
“Goodnight, Y/N,” she says with a grin, before switching off the light and leaving to her room.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear oh boy oh baby I didn’t expect people to actually LIKE this giant shitpost that is my lesbian fantasy but here we are?? I mean I adore writing this so far and I certainly don’t wanna just abandon it and I am NOT complaining about the attention I’m receiving but just... wow. Y’all are so motherfucking sweet. ;3 anyways I need to WRITE THIS CHAPTER so let’s DO THIS SHIT

“[Y/N]...” you hear a soft voice call to you. You blink and look around in a daze as you’re pulled from the depth of sleep.   
Within seconds you’re sitting up, your eyes groggy and flicking around to everything in a sort of silent, post-wake up panic. You rub your eyes and see a blurry figure with fiery red hair sitting in front of you.

It takes ten seconds for you to remember where you are.  
Once your vision becomes clear, you recognize the figure as Natasha. Your mind immediately slows, calming down from your shock.

“You okay, [Y/N]?” Natasha asks you, her head slightly cocked to one side. Her emerald eyes hold concern and her hand lays gently on your blanket-covered knee.  
You pinch the bridge of your nose and shake your head. “Sorry, I’m a little on edge when I wake up...” You blush, from both embarrassment at your cringy wake up and Natasha’s thumb rubbing soothing circles over your knee.

“That’s alright,” the assassin coos softly. “We all have sleep-related troubles.” Her light smile is reassuring. You watch her eyes glimmer and streaks of her red hair shine with gold in the morning sunlight. A glowing contrast from her black sleep shorts and tank top.  
Your chest blooms with a pleasant warmth as you find yourself smiling back.

“Ah, good morning Miss [Y/N].” You blink the sand from your eyes and look to your right, seeing Tony stride into the living room in his sleepwear and a disheveled bathrobe. He holds a steaming cup in one hand and a newspaper in the other.

You give him a friendly smile, despite not yet being fully awake. “Hiya, Tony.” You laugh. “God, it feels weird calling you all by your actual _names.”_

 _“_ Well,” Natasha chuckles, running a hand through her hair and her gaze out the nearby window, “if you’re gonna be a part of our team you have to be comfortable with us,” she smirks, her gaze moving to you. “Plus, you already gave me a new nickname, so there’s no backing out now.”

You blush and lightly giggle, your gaze dropping to your hands, which are sitting in your lap.  
“Speaking of the team, where are the others?” You ask, turning to Tony. He had moved to the other side of the room and was now sitting in a lounge chair behind Natasha, reading his newspaper.   
He flips a page. “The kitchen, arguing about breakfast.”

You and Natasha frown in unison. She follows you as you walk into the kitchen on tired legs.

When you push open the door, you’re greeted by the rest of the Avengers bantering around the same counter-island you sat on the day before. Each of them sitting on a stool, Thor arguing with Steve, Bruce watching, and Clint half-asleep with his head in his hands.   
Natasha takes two steps forward and crosses her arms over her chest. “What the _hell_ are you babies fighting about? Who gets to use the toaster first?” Her sarcastic voice, tone fluid with impatience, demands an answer and her eyes are cold.   
You watch her arms as they fold, her biceps flexing under her skin. You swallow and blush, averting your gaze. _Focus._

You step forward to stand near your mentor, who’s scolding gaze is locked on the men in front of you.

“I think they’re fighting over what breakfast should be...” Bruce says, glancing at a frustrated Thor and then at a likewise agitated Steve.   
Natasha rolls her eyes. “Jesus, can’t you boys behave for two seconds? Or do I have to monitor _everything_ you children do?” She strides over to the opposite side of the counter and takes a seat, leaning her elbows on the countertop with her hands clasped under her chin. “Just tell me what’s wrong and we’ll fix it as a team.”

You watch as Thor and Steve start talking over each other and your brow furrows. _I just figured that they each just got themselves breakfast,_ you think. _Who would have thought that the Avengers eat breakfast together?_

As you listen to the others’ aggressive conversation, you decide to explore the kitchen and it’s contents in a small effort to help with the conflict, but mostly to ease your own curiosity. You’ve always been an explorer of sorts, from digging holes in your backyard after reading archeology books while you were seven, to searching through your high school’s many rooms and closets. _I’m just a naturally curious cat,_ you smirk.

“Oatmeal is a perfect breakfast. It goes down fast, tastes good, and is even better for you,” Steve insists, his voice calm, like a parent scolding a toddler. Thor scoffs.

“Your ‘oat of meal’ is like swallowing regurgitated wood chips!” The god of thunder cries, his arms crossed. “I say that waffles are a much better option, since they taste outstanding and don’t look like waste from someone’s pet rodent’s cage.”   
You laugh as you open each cabinet and drawer, taking mental notes of each food item and kitchen tool you find. Natasha watches as you gather some ingredients onto the counter in front of you.

“[Y/N], what are you doing?” She calls over to you. At this point, she had leaned back in her chair with her arms crossed and her feet on the countertop in front of her. You turn at the sound of her voice and see her head cocked to one side, eyes squinted with curiosity.

“Cooking,” you reply with a grin. You measure some flour and pour the result into a large bowl. “And compromising.”

Natasha smirks, her eyebrow raised. You just giggle and turn back to your work, hiding your light blush as the bickering of Steve and Thor becoming background noise.   
In twenty-five minutes, you have seven plates made- six with oatmeal-cinnamon pancakes and scrambled eggs, and one just with eggs. You set a plate down in front of each Avenger and take a seat next to Natasha with the seventh.

“Did someone make cinnamon buns?” Tony pops in, looking around. He sees an empty spot at the counter with a plate and immediately sits down and drowns his pancakes in syrup.

“This is _really_ good,” Bruce says to you. Next to him, Clint nods with a full mouth.

“And it was very kind of you to cook for us when it is us that are supposed to be caring for you,” Thor laughs.

You blush at the compliments, your fork poking at your eggs. “Thank you... it wasn’t really a problem. I love cooking, and I wanted to make you all happy.”

The Avengers all thank you, happily eating their breakfast. Natasha smiles at you, but her brow furrows once she looks at your plate.

“Why didn’t you make any pancakes for yourself?” She asks, placing her fork down on her plate.   
You shake your head as if to brush the question off. “I don’t like oatmeal. But it’s not a big deal or anything, I’m fine with my eggs.” You smile at her before taking a bite.  
Natasha smiles in return. “As long as you’re comfortable.”

————————————————————————————————————————————  
After Natasha and Steve helped you clean up from breakfast, the former told Tony to get ready to take you shopping. She led you back to her bedroom so you could get ready for the day and picked out another outfit of hers for you to wear, lent you her hairbrush, and left you to get dressed.

As soon as you’re ready, you meet Natasha and Tony in the living room like you had with the former and Bruce the day before. You strut into the room in a set of Natasha’s form-fitting black shorts and a deep red tank top. Not that you mind showing some skin, in fact, it’s your preference.  
Reminded of your fashion, you frown a bit, missing your own clothes. As if reading your mind, Natasha walks up to you and places a soft hand on your bare shoulder. “Hey, don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll find some nice things you’ll like.” Her smile is warm and you smile in return, blushing at the contact.   
You’re led to one of Tony’s many convertibles and sat behind the driver’s seat. You feel a bit awkward sitting alone in the back seat while your mentors sit in front of you, but you keep to yourself for fear of causing too much trouble. It also helps that Natasha’s presence is very comforting.

_Focus, [Y/N]._

Natasha explains to you in her calming tone that they’re taking you to a nearby mall to get some clothes and necessities, and you find yourself admittedly excited. You’ve always liked malls.

The drive is short, and not very lively, except for you singing along to each song that comes on the radio (which makes Natasha smile, unless your vision is lying to you) and the strange feeling of your collar’s metal prints digging lightly into your neck. It hums softly with energy in a way that, if you weren’t conscious of its sadistic purpose, would lull you to sleep.  
You’re new to this mall, as far as can remember, you think to yourself as you unbuckle your seatbelt. Tony parks the car quickly and he and Natasha lead you into the large building.

————————————————————————————————————————————

Apparently, ‘some things you like’ means ‘as much as Tony can carry’ to Natasha, as the multi-billionaire was carrying ten different bags of purchases and your red-headed mentor is giving no sign of being close to done shopping for you. You offered to help Tony with the carrying, but he insisted that you and Natasha needed to be free to get your ‘girly things’ (you decided to ignore his sexist joke in favor of his generosity).

At this point during your trip, you’re blushing like a maniac. Yes, you usually enjoy special attention and spoiling, but Natasha’s picking up _everything_ that catches your eye no matter how random the item might be and it’s starting to make you feel silly. The combination of you and her have chosen enough clothes and accessories that your closet pre-prison has now been _doubled,_ and she’s gathered the necessary toiletries and supplies for you as well, and you expected that to be it but you let your gaze linger a little too long on a plush pink tiger in a shop window and now you’re holding it in your arms because Natasha fucking _insisted._

(A voice in the back of your mind is worried that Tony would freak out over how much Natasha is spending on you, but every glance at him you take, he shows no sign of unhappiness.)

Among your new fluffy friend, wardrobe, and supplies, Natasha and Tony have bought you numerous other things including (but not limited to) ten different books, a cookbook, and a sleep mask.   
Now, Tony has placed your many bags on the bench and floor around him where he sat, eating an Auntie Annie’s pretzel (a thank you for carrying everything, Natasha said, she bought it with her own money), right outside a Victoria’s Secret. A store that you’re really trying to not look towards at this moment, but your eyes keep betraying you and soon, Natasha catches on.

“Oh smart thinking [Y/N], we almost forgot!” Your eyes widen with mortification and she laughs, following your gaze to a mannequin wearing a very sparkly pink bra. “Ooh, that’s a pretty one, all right. It can be the first you try on after getting sized.”   
That statement coming from Natasha in her smooth-ass voice is enough to make you choke on your soda. “W... what I don’t- _sized?”_ You stammer out all at once, face flushed and root beer dripping down your chin.  
Natasha laughs again, “yes, sized. Please honey, I know you’re not this naive.” Your response is caught in your throat as you hear a _pet name_ addressed at _you_ come from Natasha’s mouth.   
Your mentor’s laughing lowers to a chuckle. “Come on, this will be our last stop,” she says, eyes on you to make sure you follow her into the store.

Tony waves to you as you step into the shop, and your senses are bombarded by different scents of perfume. You blush furiously as Natasha stops to pick up one of the aforementioned pink bras, your eyes glued to her and how the dim lights in the store make her eyes _shimmer.  
_You’re dumbstruck, following Natasha around as she shows you numerous bras and pairs of panties. She hands you a black set trimmed with red ribbon and leans down slightly so you can hear her clearly over the noise of the store _“I think these would look **great** on you.”_

“T... thank you,” you _whimper,_ taking the lingerie and placing it in your shopping basket. You remind yourself to focus and ignore Natasha’s smirk, choosing instead to pick some bras and panties yourself.   
Once you feel that your basket is full enough, Natasha calls over a a clerk to lead you into the dressing area and help get you sized. Natasha sits herself on a stool outside your changing room door with crossed legs and folded arms, supervising as the clerk wraps her measuring tape around your bust. The woman measuring you eyes your collar with a weird look and you raise an eyebrow in a sort of challenge, but her gaze quickly drops to her hands as they hold the tape in place.  
You’re a cup bigger than your last sizing, you discover, and beam with pride as the clerk unlocks a dressing room for you. She tells you her name and to call her if you need anything, and then leaves the dressing area, back to the floor.

With a light blush coloring your cheeks, you try on each bra, deciding to save the glittery pink one for last. Just as you’re about to put it on, you hear a knock at the door.  
“[Y/N]? How’s it going in there?” Natasha’s voice echoes off the walls of the small stall, and you feel a bit of relief knowing that it’s just her out there.  
“I’m fine,” you breathe, “I was just about to try on the last bra, the pink one.” You tell her excitedly- it’s your favorite out of them all, you decide. 

“Oh really? I’d love to see,” Natasha replies, making you freeze mid-clasping. Your blush is back and you listen for any sign that she’s joking, but hear nothing except her boots shuffling on the floor. Taking a breath, you finish clasping the bra and turn to open the stall door, slowly.   
Embracing your natural confidence, your eyes meet Natasha’s as the door fully opens, her irises dark green. You feel confident in this bra- the glitter shining under the light from the mirror, the pink blending perfectly with your complexion, and it’s slight push-up design drawing attention to your natural curves.   
_“Wow,_ that one’s a definite yes,” Natasha comments, her voice a bit breathy and her eyes glued to your chest. Your skin burns under her gaze in the most _delicious_ way and you feel this pull in your chest to dance for her. She looks calm, one hand on her hip and the other leaning against the doorway, but the tone of her voice makes her sound like a _siren._

“Thanks...” you mumble, your gaze dipping to the bra and playing with a strap. “I really like it, I think it’s my favorite,” you giggle.   
“Valid choice,” Natasha chuckles. “Now c’mon, we’re late for lunch back at the compound and I think Tony’s gonna pass out any second.” Her gaze drops down to your chest again for just a second before it’s back on your face and she’s turning to leave you to change.

After shutting the door, your teeth find your bottom lip and chew it as you process the heat in your core in a weak attempt to get it under control. Somehow, you succeed, and within seconds you’re fully dressed again and meeting Natasha back in the dressing area.   
Your uniquely strong sense of smell is assaulted the worst when you and Natasha walk past rows of perfume to reach the cash register. Natasha hears you groan slightly behind her and notices the crinkle of your nose, so she uses her secret agent-charm to make the transaction go by as quick as possible so you can get some fresh air.

————————————————————————————————————————————

_Ah, this is nice,_ you think to yourself, the summer air blowing your hair behind you as you hold your head out of the car window. The heart-shaped sunglasses resting on your nose keep both the sun and the wind from your eyes as you enjoy the fast breeze.   
“Careful, [Y/N]!” Natasha laughs from the seat in front of you. “Not too far out!”

She and Tony had switched seats for the ride back to the compound, leaving her in the driver’s seat and Tony napping in the seat next to hers.   
Both of your superhero mentors had been apprehensive when you asked to roll down the window and stick your head out, but it was Natasha that caved first. She knew that the perfume from Victoria’s Secret gave you a headache and you had explained to her that lots of air is always the perfect cure.

“This is _awesome!”_ You cry with joy, holding your head up a bit higher. You had to unbuckle your seatbelt to do this and Natasha was a bit worried, but eventually brushed it off and let you be. Tony lightly snores in the seat beside her, making you both chuckle.   
You’re grinning from ear to ear, feeling the wind on your skin, smiling as you see people walking their dogs or birds perched in trees as you drive by.

Before you know it, the car is pulling into the compound parking lot.


End file.
